


Bad intentions pave the road to hell

by potsugi



Category: Gintama
Genre: 3z verse, M/M, just in case, mentions of animal abuse, sort of, teenage angst a lot of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 06:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4127907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potsugi/pseuds/potsugi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moment one of them gets bored of whatever it is they’re having it’s game over.  Maybe that’s why they so desperately seek ways to entertain themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad intentions pave the road to hell

Kamui drags his hands from Takasugi’s face further down.

“Do you ever think about how easy it would be to snap someone’s neck?” his voice is soft and his hands are ridiculously cold, but against Takasugi’s warm skin it almost feels hot.

“No, but I constantly wonder if you’ve ever killed someone.” Kamui stares in silence for a minute or two. They’re close, too close; and Takasugi doesn’t know if he should be worried for his neck or for _something_ else (because they are _close_ , he can see small freckles on Kamui’s cheekbones and he thinks if he ripped off the band aid on his nose there would be even more and he _wants_ to see them). But then Kamui smiles and retreats.

“I haven’t. Yet.” He starts walking away and waving good bye. Takasugi thinks there’s something amiss with the boy’s silhouette, and when he looks down to his feet he notices Kamui forgot his umbrella.

 _Doesn’t he need it for some weird sun allergy?_ He could go after him but instead Takasugi takes it home. Now Kamui has to walk under the sun tomorrow. Now Kamui has to look for him. Takasugi didn’t know that about himself; that he was such an attention seeking bastard, but part of why he still hangs around Kamui is exactly because he discovers small new things all the time.

xxx

Takasugi doesn’t ever buy all that cheap talk about destiny and fated, perfect encounters (relationships aren’t formed out of thin air; they take time and energy and Takasugi isn’t sure he wants or is capable of making that effort again), but meeting Kamui feels almost close to it. Just as his group is walking into the rooftop of an abandoned building, Takasugi hears the echo of a punch and heavy breathing. Kamui’s first smile towards him is dyed with blood (and familiar, like they’ve known each other for years, like they should have met long ago).

Takasugi feels immediately pulled in.

“Are you Takasugi from Gintama High? I’ve heard interesting things about you, but no one will tell me how you lost that eye.”

Kamui’s presence has the weight of all twenty bodies resting along the floor. Takasugi doesn’t even pay attention to the other two guys.

“Why would you want to know that?”

They both smile for a moment, but Takasugi doesn’t feel any tension; rather, he thinks he can see waves of lighting between them, smooth and strong.

“Wanna spar?” Kamui probably sees it too.

But Takasugi doesn’t want to spar with the _other_ people around. He wants to tear Kamui’s head apart and take a look at the insides, he wants them to be alone, and by the look on the boy’s face it seems he _understands_.

“Pass, I have abacus class tomorrow.”

When Kamui walks by him their shoulders touch and it takes a lot not to jump at each other’s throats.

xxx

“Shinsuke, your sound had a significant change when we met the Yato Industrial High students yesterday. It became a rather… loud song, I daresay.”

“And how was their sound?”

“It was chaotic, but standard… Although, I think you’re only interested in _one_ sound in particular.” Takasugi laughs and even he surprises himself with how it resonates inside his throat.

“It has been really boring lately. So how was it, _his_ song?”

Bansai doubts for a minute or two, which already speaks volumes since Bansai never has trouble describing anyone’s song.

“It was just white noise.”

Takasugi’s smirk fades only slightly.

xxx

Out of boredom probably, they start a truth or dare game that is played between silences and stares. To fill in the gaps, to avoid thinking about them, like when Takasugi smokes or when Kamui kicks stray dogs.

“I dare you to burn your tongue with your cigarette butt.” Kamui doesn’t bother to ask truth or dare, and neither does Takasugi. They never choose truth anymore, and their dares almost always involve pain, just to see how far they can push each other. Last time Takasugi had to quit first because Kamui dared him to cut off his pinky. Sick bastard.

Takasugi stubs out the cigarette against the center of his tongue, and it tastes worse than it hurts. He makes a face.

“What does it taste like?”

“Like ass.”

“You probably like it then.”

Kamui is looking at him with the intensity he gets before doing something really thoughtless. Last time after Takasugi refused to chop off one of his own fingers; Kamui offered to do it for him (how nice) and crawled on top of him with big garden scissors. Takasugi had to kick him in the stomach and Kamui just laughed on the kitchen floor. They don’t really talk about last time.

So before something happens.

“I dare you to cut your braid. From the base.”

Kamui stands up to look for something sharp while muttering something along the lines of “your dares are always boring”. It occurs to Takasugi that he doesn’t know where Kamui lives, since they only ever meet like this at his apartment, which has gradually become less his and more theirs. Kamui brings all kinds of food, spends at least one night a week, leaves shampoo and towels and clothes lying around. It all reflects on how naturally Kamui moves around.

Takasugi could be bothered, but he isn’t.

“Scissors are in the bathroom, idiot.”

“Why would you even have them there?” they both walk towards the bathroom and Kamui finds them easily. Takasugi watches from the door frame thinking maybe his dares _are_ boring and maybe he should have asked him to slit open his lip or pull out a nail.

But when Kamui’s hair is between the two blades, they both look at the reflection on the mirror. Kamui scrutinizes his face and his eyes go cloudy with something Takasugi thinks no one could ever understand (certainly not him (but that’s what he likes)). He drops the scissors.

“I’m not doing it.” Kamui leaves the apartment before Takasugi can offer to cut it for him.

At least it’s his first win, he is satisfied with that.

xxx

Takasugi starts smoking right after Shouyo’s death. It’s cliché and expensive, but he takes what little he can; to get by.

He hates cemeteries.

“Yo. You’re late, that’s kinda rude.” It’s raining and Kamui doesn’t share his umbrella.

“Why did you even want to meet here? Morbid asshole.”

“It’s about to get even more morbid; let’s go inside.”

Takasugi stares at the gates before going in after Kamui. He considers how he never once visited Shouyo’s gravestone and wonders if ghosts exist.

“I heard there’s an open grave. One of those where people bury the whole corpse inside. I dare you to jump inside and lay down for ten minutes.”

“You called me here in the middle of a storm to make me lay down inside a _grave_?” Takasugi knows it’s because last time he won the dare game and Kamui is a sore loser, and he feels wrapped around this freak’s pinky because in the end he is the one who-

“Hey, you’re the one who came. You could have stayed home. No strings attached, remember?” Kamui stops to face him and there’s that plastic smile on his face which both disgusts and excites Takasugi. He remembers, even though they never said anything (if it’s them they don’t really have to say much); the moment one of them gets bored of whatever it is they’re having it’s game over.

Maybe that’s why they so desperately seek ways to entertain themselves.

Kamui is walking slightly ahead while Takasugi fails to see how a hole in the ground is of any interest at all. But then again, Kamui’s interests are always surprising. Takasugi tries to remember the last time he went out with Bansai and Matako and realizes it was before meeting Kamui. He should probably call them, he should probably stop skipping school with someone he initially only ever wanted to fight. He should probably start caring.

He knows he won’t do any of those.

Kamui suddenly stops in front of a small gravestone with a woman’s name on it, and flowers; many, many different bouquets, all on different states of wither.

“What the hell, I didn’t know this was here.” Kamui’s face is covered by hair and rain. Takasugi looks at the name and thinks he understands, for the first time, what’s going through Kamui’s head. It makes him feel a pinch somewhere in his gut, and he wants to keep walking and lay inside that hole and just get it over with.

He gives Kamui a little push on the side.   

xxx

There are things Takasugi will never be freed from; his parents’ back as they chant about disappointment, Shouyo getting stabbed so many times he could hear the knife cutting through flesh. Shouyo’s bones being picked up one by one (small and burnt, didn’t even look like bones anymore, didn’t even look _human_ ). The sounds they made, the scent of flowers intended only for corpses.

Things he dreams about every night.

xxx

From inside the open grave:

“Do you think ghosts get mad when you don’t visit their gravestones?”

“There’s plenty of horror movies about it. Of course they do. They also watch you poop.”

“I wonder if that’s why you had such an ugly face when I asked you to meet here.”

“Did you know the person in that grave?”

“Maybe. Whose grave don’t you want to see?” A pause. “Not answering, uh. Are you wondering how I found out?”

He gives in (which is always a dangerous thing to do around Kamui) “How _did_ you find out.”

“It’s all over your place; from the way you never lock the door to how much you smoke. Makes me sick.”

Raindrops filled with mud make their way into Takasugi’s ears. He can’t really hear what Kamui is saying.

“Personally, I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Neither do I.”

xxx

There are things Kamui will never be freed from; the weight of his father and sister, their worry and their attempts to glue everything back together. Mother’s embrace; Mother’s pale hands braiding his hair. Mother’s last week at home. Him never once visiting her at the hospital.

Things he dreams about every night.

xxx

“You haven’t been to school in two weeks.” Kamui hates being where his father is; which usually translates to the house (not _his_ house, not for a long time now) and school.

“I know, I keep track.” 

“As a teacher, I can only do so much to stop them from expelling you.” Umibozu hits the table with a mixture of genuine anger and disappointment and it’s nothing new for Kamui, but he starts feeling like a stranger. This man isn’t his father, the girl on the other room (probably listening to everything, probably worried) isn’t his sister.

Should he keep holding back?

“I know… I know it was particularly hard on you. But she would have wanted to see you graduate, make something with your life.”

There’s bile coming up his throat. This man who is not his father doesn’t have a right to speak for her. He always did and that got them nowhere; that got her killed. Kamui never once thought any of them understood what she wanted, especially during the last days.

But he doesn’t say anything (why should he hold back?); because if Umibozu never tried to understand his own wife, he would never try to understand his son (he is tired of holding back), and he does lament for sweet, innocent Kagura who keeps trying so hard (he will run out of kittens to burn if he keeps holding back), but she is not his problem.

So why keep holding back?

He punches Umibozu in the face, feels a bone crack; feels the warm stream of blood. It detonates in his face; the elaborate set of explosives they both kept on building. He is left bruised and burnt and bleeding, and Kagura is there too, with a hand on his shoulder and the other on her father’s chest, stopping him.

Umibozu storms out of the room. Kamui starts laughing, and he is sure Kagura starts crying. His face feels stiff and swollen, but he smiles it off. Physical pain has never been a problem (it’s the other kind of pain that bothers him).

He suddenly remembers he hasn’t seen Takasugi in a few days.

xxx

It’s nearly two in the morning when Takasugi hears his door crack open. He knows it’s Kamui (not because Kamui is the only one who visits anymore), but Kamui has never tried to be this quiet at this hour; he usually comes in like a tornado, demanding Takasugi entertains him with some new ridiculous dare, disregarding completely if he was asleep or taking a piss. There’s a bitter feeling in his stomach that he doesn’t want to name _worry_ , but-

“What the fuck.” Kamui is covered in blood; some of which is dry, but most is fresh and dripping everywhere. Takasugi feels like he should ask, he wants to, but he is not sure if it would be out of curiosity or something else entirely, so he can only wonder.

“Let me borrow clean clothes.”

Takasugi shrugs and points to the bathroom, and just as Kamui is walking past him he blurts out an almost quiet “There’s also some alcohol and towels.”

Kamui stops to look at him, and even in the dark he can tell something’s off. Something must be off with both of them, since a long time ago. But suddenly Kamui smiles.

“What, you’re not helping me? I’m all beat up and can barely move my arms, man. At least help me undress.” Takasugi rolls his eye (he’s not wearing his eyepatch, he has never not worn his eyepatch around Kamui and he feels exposed).

“Take a shower too; you’re stinking up my place.”

“Wanna join me?” Takasugi pushes Kamui to the bathroom without looking at his face and locks him in.

His heart was beating a little too fast there, for a second.

xxx

When Kamui comes out of the shower he is shamelessly almost naked. Takasugi is smoking at the window.

“I am not lending you underwear.”

Kamui eyes the pile of kinda clean clothes Takasugi dropped on the couch for him. He picks them up and smells them, and wants to gag because they stink of old tobacco and something else (some other scent that makes him think it’s ok to be there, even at two in the morning and drenched in blood). It doesn’t matter. They spend too much time together, he probably already smells like cigarettes most of the time.

“What makes you think I would want your ugly purple boxers?” Takasugi’s expression almost gets him to laugh. “You put your eyepatch on.”

“And you need to put some clothes on.”

“Close the window, I’m fucking freezing.” but they’re in the middle of spring. Takasugi flings the cigarette out the window and walks up to Kamui with too much aggressiveness, with a knot inside his stomach and a little dizzy after smoking (easy to blame the nicotine).

“You have a fever.” Kamui’s wet hair sticks to his hand when he touches his forehead. He wants to pull it to see a genuine reaction (because the plastic smile is getting old even if at some point it seemed interesting), but also wants to brush it back into a braid and his torso is full of bruises he wants to aggravate and-

“Aww, you worried?” Takasugi takes several steps back with a grossed out look on his face. Kamui laughs (and maybe that’s genuine, there’s no way to know for sure).

But the image of bruises and cuts sticks in his head, and he really wants to ask. Kamui holds his pile of dirty clothes and they’re so red there’s no way all of it is his.

“What the hell did you do? I just need to know if the mafia will come looking for you in my house.” he closes the window and sits waiting for an answer he is almost sure he won’t get, but then-

“I’ll tell you, if you tell me about the eye.” Kamui’s back is turned to him, and Takasugi really wonders if this person has killed someone (he wonders why the idea doesn’t bother him at all).

The first time they played truth or dare, Kamui immediately jumped to the same question. He claimed it was just so he could then go find whoever did it and fight them, since anyone capable of cutting someone’s eye is someone worth knowing.

He guesses one of them had to choose truth, eventually.

“It was just some lame rob attempt carried by some amateur guys. The person I was with got killed.” Takasugi tries hard not to accept it’s the first time he’s told anyone about it. He is surprised by how calm he is.

“That’s anticlimactic.” he already knows.

“Your turn.”

“Oh, I… I got into a fight.” then a few seconds and no further explanation.

“Fuck you.”

“Haha, ok.” Kamui is done dressing when he turns to face Takasugi with a blank expression on his face. At instances like this, Takasugi wonders if maybe this is the real Kamui; a white background that changes to fit situations. Apathy. “I fought my dad.” he spits the word “Then I left and fought some other people, and then some other people.” Kamui shrugs and smells the shirt he is wearing.

At some other instances, Takasugi thinks even _that_ is a façade, because it’s always easier to not express than to express too much or too truthfully. In the end he doesn’t really know Kamui well enough, at all.

“You’re not going back, then.” it’s not even a question, but Kamui somehow manages to not answer anyways.

“Let me see the scar.” Takasugi’s face must show how much the idea repels him “C’mon, you just saw all my bruises, it’s only fair.”

He starts walking closer and closer and then they’re in a familiar position; Kamui’s hands wrapped around his neck, Kamui’s knees caging his hips. Except this time he actually feels threatened, as Kamui brushes his hair away from his eyepatch and takes it off, and stares so intensely Takasugi thinks he might drown and he might not care about it. He really might not care, because later they’re both kissing and pulling and climbing on each other.

Takasugi takes handfuls of hair and yanks hard when he starts to need air, but Kamui grabs on to him and doesn’t let go, and Takasugi finds it hard to believe that someone can hold their breath for that long, and maybe his plan is to asphyxiate both of them at the same time.

He pushes until Kamui almost falls on his ass. And he is laughing, in a way that sounds genuine and not coherent, but you never really know. Takasugi’s lips feel weird.

“Your clothes are really ugly.” Kamui smells them again and smiles (not plastic; not much of a difference, but suddenly he can tell them apart). Takasugi laughs a little at how messed up his hair is.

xxx

Eventually, Takasugi runs into Kagura, and he doesn’t have to be a genius to know this is Kamui’s sister.

“I’ve asked around, so I know he’s living with you.” she gives him a look “Tell him to come pick up his clothes at least. I don’t want them.”

He really doesn’t know how to react; if he should deny everything or just accept it and let rumors run wild. Kagura doesn’t seem the type to spread rumors though, so he shrugs and leaves it to her interpretation.

“Is he happy now?”

“How should I know.” he really doesn’t.

“He was never happy at home…” she ignores him in favor of munching on something green, probably seaweed. “Good luck with him.” Kagura keeps walking to school. He doesn’t follow.

But Takasugi appreciates her words, since he will most likely need it.

xxx

“So, I guess I’m staying here…” Kamui is laid on the couch inspecting a pack of cigarettes and taking one out.

“It’s been a week and you haven’t left, I guess you really are.” Takasugi snaps the nicotine sticks from Kamui, muttering something like ‘ _Don’t even try to start_ ’. Kamui’s nonchalance pisses him off. “But do you think I’m just going to let you?”

“Sure! I’ll pay half the rent.”

“I don’t pay rent at all.”

“Then I’ll buy the food or something.”

“With what money?”

“I’ll get a job. I could be a professional bodyguard and I bet I can make more than you.”

“You’re seriously pissing me off.”

“Yet you’re gonna let me stay, aren’t you?”

Takasugi thinks that whole sentence sums up their relationship pretty well, and this is probably the last dare Kamui will ever give him. But he has lost enough of those already, se he doesn’t say no.

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
